


Devilish Heat

by zeryxis



Series: SFDawn [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bondage, Conditioning, Demon, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Consensual Bondage, Trapped, Undertale Skeletons in Heat, Unhealthy Relationships, angel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-17 01:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12354612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeryxis/pseuds/zeryxis
Summary: Inspired by xladymalice's day 14 Inktober piece ~https://xladymalice.tumblr.com/post/166371850119/kinktober-day-14-devlish-heat-sfdcest-this





	1. Chapter 1

Papyrus hummed to himself as he leafed through a large tome, not really paying it any mind, but wanting to pass the time without drawing any attention. He disliked being caught napping, especially if a lower ranked angel found him and thought it best to inform superiors. What few he had, at least. His fangs curled into a slow smile, lifting his gaze from the parchment pages. Something was caught in one of his traps. Letting it fall shut, he pushed it aside and gathered up the mantle that hung loose around his shoulders and wings, tying the shimmering silk in place as he focused on which direction the triggered trap was in.

West, a little North. As he traveled, he let his attention narrow down the selection. It was only three hours away, the signal strong enough to let him know it was a smaller trap. Pity, he was rather bored today. A small trap meant likely just some minor demon that would be near death at just the sight of him.

Slowing his descent with just a simple shift in angle, Papyrus let his feet lightly tap against the ground before he really looked at where his trap had been sprung.

The grass around it had been burned away, the dirt and stones churned up by the attempt to escape. He was pleasantly surprised by how far the assaults had gone past the edges of his intricate runes and charm-work. The archangel didn't linger long on the state of the trap itself, rather taking in the lithe form of the demon inside it.

They were a skeleton, much like himself, but with several easily noted differences. The wings were like tattered black leather, smaller and less gloriously sweeping than his own. Twisting ram horns sat atop the smooth skull and a sharp-tipped tail curled around one of the demons' legs. They were nude, showing every little bit of bone along them, and he let himself appreciate the delicate shapes it possessed. He came closer without a word, hooded sockets watched the way it writhed on the ground, small razor-edged fangs showing in it's panting, open mouth. The way the bones flushed in deep teal along the joints, slick with magic. He suppressed the smile that flickered across his face, doing a quick, almost casual survey of their surroundings.

Alone, not another being in sight. Or within sensing range. Likely from the little demon having torn up the world around him, trying to escape. He gave a slight pause when he saw one of his crucifixes were singed. He'd need to clean it, he huffed. Or perhaps see if he could con another angel into mending it for him, he thought, letting a list of possible options start up in the back of his head. The thought was interrupted when he heard the demon make a low, choked noise.

Looking back down, he saw it had rolled in place, looking up at him with fiery azure eyelights, slitted with pitch black that seemed to draw the looker in. Teeth bared, it squirmed, as if it wanted to push off the ground, but Papyrus could see its hands were busy elsewhere.

"You seem to be in a bit of a bind," he said, tone syrupy, a little tinge of gloating along the last word. The demon made a mixed noise, like a cat rowling, but it had an undercurrent that Papyrus knew quite well.

Need.

Moving a hand, he slid out a long rosary, the dark honey-hued beads made of decades of condensed magic, turning it to let the silver crucifix hang at the edge of the trap wards.

"Would you like some help, little one?" Papyrus asked, setting the rosary to a slight sway. The demon's eyes were mesmerizing, he needed to have them focus somewhere else. Luckily, it did look to the lure, even if only for a second, and whatever little spell had been woven by its look was gone. He felt his feathers relax a bit more while those burning eyes watched the gentle back and forth of his rosary, then heard another low, keening noise. A blend of pain and want.

"Damned freak," the demon hissed, though the words shivered with more than just spat curses. It wanted him to do something, to do more than stand and stare. But he let just the barest hint of a smile grace his features, golden fang accenting the motion.

"Should I enlighten you?" Papyrus asked, letting the rosary come closer, and the demon shrank away from it, pushing further back into the warded area, which was already tight around it. Even with all the hatred in those eyes, it couldn't hide the seething lust in them as well. The demon was in heat. He felt a swell of excitement in himself, something much more enticing than simply playing with his prey. No, he could make it endure - _agony_ \- and make it enjoy it.

His hands slid the rosary open, the loop big enough to toss over the demon's horns, settling around his neck and shoulders to pull him closer. He heard the demon hiss as the rosary beads seared at his bones, but the hiss had a moan inside it, fed by his burning need. Papyrus knelt down, drawing the demon to the edge of his trap, pulling him in tight enough to almost touch him.

"Just _end_ me already," the demon snarled, almost able to keep the note of lustful hunger out of his tone. Papyrus could smell him clearly now, the sickly sweet aroma, made to draw those it tempted in and trap them until the demon was done. Like a succubus, except he could tell this one was not of the lust devils. They preferred the look of tempting, curvaceous flesh and teasing promises.

"There is always a more righteous path," he said, sliding a hand up to draw his talons along the smooth scar of the demon's left eye. He flinched, but couldn't keep the tiny noise of pleasure just from getting to feel another creature touching him. From the heat that assaulted his body sensing the presence of a possible partner. Even if that partner was an angel, was a holy being whose touch alone was making him hurt.

"Freak," the demon hissed, but the word was drawn out, bubbling, pleading...

"I can guide you to salvation," he purred, drawing the demon against the barrier, the rosary binding him tight in place as Papyrus used it and the trap to keep the demon upright on his knees. He pulled away, standing, enjoying the way those spell-like eyes followed him up. "It will take time, and it will hurt, little devil."

He leaned down, taking that delicate face in one broad hand, pulling him up enough to claim a hard, fierce kiss.

"But I will save you."


	2. Chapter 2

Moving the demon to a more suitable location had taken a bit of scouting and some work with warding, but once it was all done, Papyrus stretched himself, letting his wings spread a bit before returning his full attention to his captive prize.

The hours had not been kind to the need-addled demon, clawed fingers clenched tight against his femurs as he was unable to move any closer to his pelvis. The bindings on his wrists ensured he couldn't even try to give himself any relief, which had let the angel see that the increased desire had created a more prominent tinting to his bones, almost as if he were dyed pale blue. The small space was flooded with his scent, but his captor had taken steps to avoid being ensnared by it. At this point, the demon had to be drowning in equal parts want and anger, his glowing eyelights having never left Papyrus. Being toted about and unceremoniously set aside while the angel worked at ensuring no other demons would be coming near, and then putting up a few smaller barriers against mortals, had him growling ceaselessly.

The sound was musical to Papyrus.

He wanted to unwrap this gift slowly... to take his time getting the demon in a more wound up state to where those flashing blue eyes were less spiteful and more pleading. It was a waiting game, and he had patience tempered by centuries. That, and he was busying himself with cleansing so many things from himself.

The water dripped from his chin where he'd doused his face several times, the clear liquid seeming to cloud once it had passed over his bones. Just how cloudy it was told him enough, and he was working on another series of purification rites that he knew would work, depending on how far he'd let himself go. These were simple, banishing the taint of impurity and pride, a near-routine ritual for him by this point. Another was to remove the feel and scent of the demon from himself, from wherever it had touched or been held to him. The robes had to be burned, but he had multitudes stashed for just that reason.

Drips of blood-red wine were placed on the crucifixes, and he had bundled twigs of several kinds of trees and herbs. They surrounded his prize, along with a few well-made runes and fetish bags. Demons responded to multiple mortal beliefs and notions, and he took advantage of every one he could scrounge up, no matter how archaic or out of fashion they might seem.

"He-" the demon bit off the sound, but the note of utter desire inside the aborted word was enough to draw him out of his mental chanting.

"I am helping you," he said, rising from where he had knelt beside the basin of water on a stone table, "to resist your temptation."

"You bastard," he snarled, writhing in place, trying in vain to bring any kind of relief to his magic-streaked bones. He was lain on a simple cot, wings tied up in a neat bundle against his back and horns lashed to the upper corners. His knees were spread far, to keep from letting any pressure go to his burning pelvis, and letting Papyrus... appraise his condition.

The thick wet lips were shimmering with unreleased magic, his thighs too far away to put any friction against them, and his ankles were crossed under the cot, also tied snug together.

"You are full of lust and perversion," Papyrus said in a too-steady, reproachful tone. He shivered, thinking of what he could do to that lithe demon form, and fetched the basin of clouded water, less blessed than before, but enough.

The demon shrieked as he poured it over him, starting at his horns, watching the way the tendrils of steam and smoke curled over him. Down his sternum, along his magic-coated abdomen...

The moans he made when the water slid along his nethers had Papyrus linger a moment, letting more trickles of that agonizing relief go down his thighs before he threw the rest of it over the demon's face. Another scream, body gone taut against his multiple bonds, before he fell back against the cot, slack and weak with tiny whimpers of need.

"Bast... ard..." he managed to choke out, still dizzy from the blur of sensations thrust on him. Papyrus smiled, letting a drip of water hit his captive's brow.

"You'll come to thank me, little one."


	3. Chapter 3

Panting, having been left alone in the light of so many candles, the demon had let his eyes find a spot of stone to focus on. As much attention as he could manage, he placed in that tiny fleck of crystal surrounded by swaths of unyielding grey. It flickered in the dozen or so tiny flame-lights, and would occasionally take him away from himself for a moment, but always, always that burning, racing need pulled him back into the reality of his predicament.

The angel had left stars-knows how long ago, hours, days, it didn't matter to him. He couldn't track time right now, didn't have the presence of mind to think of anything but how much he wanted to fuck something. To find release from the feral hunger driving him to want to beg. He knew the angel was tormenting him on purpose, had known that from the moment he had refused to kill him. Had taken him in under the pretense of 'saving' him. Of taking away the core of his existence and making it into something it was not.

Sans growled, gritting his teeth against another rush of desire as he thought of the angel. Of the way those dark sunset eyelights would look over him, clear with want to do more than what he allowed to be done. The times he had felt those hands, strong and huge, wanting them to shove deep inside his need-soaked entrance and ravage him... he puffed up at the thought, the flush of blue across his face from anger making him look away from his little pinpoint of crystal. He wished he'd not fallen for that tempting lure that had been in the trap. The sweet scent of a vulnerable mortal, something he would have checked over had he not been in heat. His mind had been dulled, the way that creature had been laid out for the taking having overridden his calculating nature.

The moment he'd crossed inside the trap, he'd gone into a fit of rage that had killed the mortal he'd gone after and torn the world around him. Sans forgot how much energy he'd expelled in his want to free himself, but his heat had weakened him considerably. All his magic had been turned inward, pressing him to seek conquests as if he were nothing but a filthy lust devil.

He'd of been glad to take one of them now, to be honest.

"Fuck," he groaned to the empty air, feeling the candle hovering over him drip another dollop of wax against his sternum. The more it burned down, the lower it went along his body, angled so the drips would not stay in one spot. The wax stayed hot for longer, too, it felt, stayed sinfully painful long enough to make him hope the next drip would be soon. But it seemed to be made just for the fact of making him wait.

He didn't hear the angel return, but he sensed him long before that. The overwhelming feel of his aura, of the powerful presence he was... he almost let the word slip from his mouth, but bit his tongue, the taste of his own magic blood choking it back.

"Seven hours," the angel said, the impressed note lasting only a tiny waver in the first syllable. So little passed in that voice that Sans suspected he was only allowed to hear what the angel wanted to have him hear. And it drove him almost as mad as the heat itself.

He was disappointed when the candle was snuffed out and put aside, almost letting himself ask to have it back. But no, that's what the damnable angel wanted. He wanted him to beg, to ask for what they both seemed to know he wanted. And he wouldn't give him the satisfaction, since the angel was obviously against doing the same for him.

"My humblest apologies for leaving..." the angel began, but let it trail off as he slashed one of the bonds on his wings, pulling it to spread out full. It wasn't even half the length of one of those feathered pistons, finely built and almost delicate, though it would withstand heavy abuse. The scars were proof enough, only along the trailing edge.

Sans screamed when he felt something press against the thick of the thumb joint, the acrid scent curling up making him wonder if the angel was trying to remove it. But there was no cutting, only searing, and it moved down, tracing a white hot line down each bone of his wings.

He watched as the angel moved to to the same to his other wing, and even once he was finished, it seemed to flare up with erratic pains, the magic of his bones pulsing with the unfamiliar marks left on him. When he started on his sternum, he glared hate up at the angel, even as he admired the focus on the bloodied skull. The way those eyelights gazed over him in devoted patience.

When the angel was done, his body burned with the runes etched into him with sacred herbs and ash, the tattoos he'd been given. He felt the pain weaving into his magic from the way the marks were made, but when he felt another dose of that purified water flow over him, the places he'd been marked didn't hurt, and he noticed the angel left a pleasing trickle of that stinging holy water along his folds, and he gave in.

"More."

"As you wish," the smug voice answered, and the demon groaned as his back arched from the way that trickle increased against him, making his eyelights roll back. It didn't last, but sweet burning stars he'd felt everything in blissed ecstasy for that brief moment.

Then it stopped, and he could almost weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's those tattoos you wanted to give him :3


	4. Chapter 4

"You freak," he hissed, though the tone was far from spiteful, as the water was taken away, "you want to save me, do you not?"

"Oh?" Papyrus answered, curiosity burning brighter in his eyelights than in his voice, "I will. There is so much more to do, little one." Sans could laugh, curling his mouth into a wicked grin.

"Not when I am locked in this... damnable heat..." he panted, the lingering presence and the feel of the angel's close proximity making it difficult to keep the small script he'd pieced together in his more lucid moments. He shifted, canting his hips up, those legs spreading a little more, claws digging further into thighs and almost down to the bone under the ectoform. "There is nothing to do... but remove it from me."

The angel eyed him, his look appreciative of the way his captive presented himself, and Sans let himself go a little more, tongue sliding past his fangs to let him pant wontonly.

Oh, that made a pretty flush go across those scarred cheekbones, the demon noticed, and he hooded his sockets, lust-filled eyes turning to the angel that seemed intent on making him beg.

"Do you want to cleanse me, angel?" he breathed, letting his heat drive him to more of those shifting motions that drew the other skeleton's gaze down along his form, "I would need all of your skill... all of the power you wield. All of your attention, to make me shine again."

Sans flicked his gaze into a sultry, almost pleading look, turning his head as best he could to give an askance look to his captor.

"Unless you are not strong enough... to resist falling further into the dark."

Papyrus pushed up from where he had knelt beside him, feathers ruffled, the offended look on his face one of the purest things the demon had seen from him. It was unbridled fury and righteous anger, but his grin curled all the wider. After seeing how much attention the angel took to purifying himself, to washing away the taint of sin, he knew it wasn't just for the fact that he was a holy being. He was hiding it well, but no true pure angel would entertain the notion of saving a demon. Salvation was not theirs to have, in the eyes of all angels.

"You are tempting me, little one."

"Oh, but that's what demons _do_ , angel," Sans murmured, and again he slid himself as far as his bonds would allow, prostrating his form and making a groan of want, "besides... you want to feel yourself inside me. Feel how my heat has me doing whatever you ask of me. Hmh... and imagine... you might even like it."

The angel did indeed enjoy the way his body moved, and he arched harder, a little moan in his throat as he tilted wanting blue eyelights to this angel that wanted him. Papyrus watched, patient, and even with the fresh wounds of the runes along his body, the demon didn't relent in his seductive little dance, tied down on a cot and dripping with more than dirtied holy water. A low smile shifted his features, and he disrobed slowly, showing where his recent work had marred his already heavily scarred body.

"I was gone to tend to my duties," he said in a slow, steady voice, "I destroyed two other demons. Both were much more imposing than you, little one. They equaled my size, and still I struck them down. I burned away their foul presence..." he lifted a hand, showing where it was still stained in dark blood, "and they became as dust."

"Well," Sans breathed, letting his body continue to move in wanting shifts, "so do you wish to impress me further?" The unspoken question of just how he would impress the demon was obvious, had been since the moment he had decided not to slay his captive. Papyrus tossed aside the bloodied robes, wings arching up to make him look even larger, before he moved to lean over the bound demon.

"Then I have impressed you?" he asked, voice measured and sure. The look the demon gave him was terrifying to mortals and weaker celestials, but to Papyrus, it was coy, almost flirtatious. He gripped that grinning face hard, lifting his head and exposing that slender, moaning throat. Now that he was as bare as his prize, he felt the weight of the heat pressing around him, calling him, begging him more than any words he would hear from the demon.

"I can do far more for you if you untie me, angel," the demon said in slow, sultry tones, already promising to do everything the other asked and more. He lifted a leg as best he could, the feel of the bare bones over him against his knee making him clench around the empty air. "Ahh... fucking freak... pretending to be so pure. How often do you have to bleed yourself for forgiveness?"

Further comments were silenced by a hard hand against his pelvis, just above where his painfully swollen clit was peeking past his lips, and he gave a gasping, choked moan. Hips bucking fruitlessly up into the pressure, getting no relief and bringing his simmering need back up to a raging furnace, crying out in feral sounds of want. Papyrus smiled down at that lovely song his little demon made, pushing until his hips could only shift between the palm and cot, tail pressed between his smooth buttocks where it had been threaded between the legs of the cot and tied down.

"How often do you throw yourself at the mercy of angels?"

The comment stung, making him snarl in response, though with the way the angel's other hand trailed up his side, it was turned into a heady moan, throwing himself back against the cot as his wings fluttered in place, then flung forward to buff against Papyrus, the thicker main joints hitting at a shoulder and cheekbone. Rather than flinch away, he pressed himself more over the other, and got a higher-pitched moan of delight as his sternum rubbed down against the demon's.

"Ahh, fuck yes," Sans growled, grinding up as best he could, shame thrown aside in favor of getting as much contact as possible, "come on, angel... you'll like it."

As much as the contact had drawn him in, Papyrus knew too much of his control was slipping into the demon's favor, and he uttered a soft prayer against that tempting mouth. The demon froze up, shuddering in pain that gave him no pleasure, teeth gritted in an agonized growl as his eyelights guttered a moment.

"You... ah, fucking _tease!_ " he snarled, fangs closing on open air. He'd missed snapping at Papyrus' face, instead getting nothing for his effort. Sockets narrowed in a hiss, he looked away, the pulse of his heat no match for the furious resentment he had for the angel.

"Go. Leave me to my misery and revel in my end. I don't want anything from you."

He gasped as that huge hand slid along his groin, and could not stifle the moan as a finger slipped alongside his tender clit.

"Yes, you do."


	5. Chapter 5

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice strained. The other slid a hand along his brow, the talon-tips feeling where the horns met the curve of his skull. He hiccuped slightly, covering the moan and the desperate way he had moved into the touch. His eyelights held firm throughout, and he kept rocking in place, straining to get any further stimulation from the angel, the sheen of his magic making him seem to glisten. The angel gave him another of those slight smiles.

"Nothing," Papyrus said, still running his claws in light strokes over the other's bones, making it difficult for him to keep from making increasingly needing moans. He was a perfect mess, and the angel leaned over to lick along his mouth, then slipping the appendage inside as another moan tried to escape. The demon pushed into it, small noises of want rising from his chest and throat, straining against the bondage holding him down. He needed it. Papyrus broke the kiss, pushing his captive back down firmly. The desperate way he looked up at him, eyelights in half-blown slits, shivering under his touch and all but saying to be taken.

He pressed a soft kiss to that brow, hearing the panting wish for more. Sans did with his wings what his hands could not, reaching up to touch along his face, voice hiccuping with uncontrolled desire.

"Stop it."

"No."

Papyrus' hand slid down again, resting along the curve of a hip, slowly teasing down lower. He soaked in the soft breaths the demon made as he rolled himself into the brush of his fingertips, memorized the face his little prize made as he spread the lips open, feeling the pulsing warmth rising from inside him.

Sans' eyelights rolled up a bit as a single finger teased around his hole, trying to grab at it, trying to take it and finally have something inside him. He felt as though he'd been empty for eons, soaked through with no hope of relief from the demands of his magic boiling in his being.

"Papyrus," the angel said, his voice low, as if to make sure that no one but that demon could hear him, "so you can scream it."

His retort was cut off by the feel of a thrust of that large hand, making him keen and arch into the rough motions. He pushed his hips down, riding into those fingers as if his very existence depended on it. Sans cried, it felt so good. Breaths nothing but rasping, half-word moans, he rode until he felt himself fall past the edge, screaming with a sound that could almost be the name he'd been given. Falling back, he could feel where the angel still touched him, still drew soaked fingers along his folds, though they twitched with sensitivity.

"You didn't say it right," Papyrus said after he could see the other had caught his breath, and began fingering him again, seeing the way those hips jerked away a moment. He followed, pressing, and heard as the demon cried out, the sound a mix of pain and pleasure. "Try again."

Despite the peak of hyper-sensitivity, Sans could feel the point of ecstasy, deep under the ache from those hard strokes, and he gritted his fangs, panting and riding to try to minimize the discomfort while rooting out the pleasure. His body screamed for it, for more, even as it throbbed in spikes of hurt. He kept at it, refusing to be overcome already.

Watching with sharp eyelights, Papyrus let his demon work himself to a lather, then pulled his hand away, bringing the mess of bright blue up to that flushed face.

"Clean them," he instructed, sliding his claws along the curve of his mouth, and was rewarded by having those sharp fangs part, an electric blue tongue curling around his digits and drawing the magic-coated hand in. He saw the way those fiery eyelights looked, half-drunk on lust and streaked with indignation. That he would be so pliable, so eager to comply to this huge celestial being that had ensnared him at his most vulnerable.

Papyrus even forgave that the demon spat when he pulled his hand away, though he still needed to keep his pet enthralled.

"I'll let you consider how much you want to be saved," he said, rising to his feet and moving over to where a fresh robe would be waiting, cached neatly away. The angel hid his victorious grin when he saw the demon stuck a moment, as if unsure what exactly was expected of him now.

"You're..." he started, questioning, then it turned to fury, "YOU'RE LEAVING ME LIKE _THIS?!_ "

The amount of movement he could summon up, still reeling from the much-needed orgasm and shock of how much he was willing to do, was impressive. He rocked his entire self and the cot, almost toppling it over, claws scraping wherever he could reach, fangs bared in a hellish snarl and wings slapping at the ground.

"GET OVER HERE YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" Sans shrilled, though he already knew it was inevitable. The angel was leaving again, and going to leave him hanging by a single well-woven strand. That he'd need him even more the next time, stars knew when that would be. He wore himself out as he struggled against his bonds, wanting nothing more than to have that bastard touching him again. His voice echoed after as the angel left, and he kept screaming until his throat was as sore as his pussy.

"PAPYRUS!"


	6. Chapter 6

Papyrus panted, kneeling over the basin of blood-clouded water, the sturdy blade in his hand glinting with a line of his marrow. He'd spent the rest of the evening apart from his captive, shutting out the sounds of his angry screams. He knew he was giving in more than he'd anticipated, and while it pleased him to no end, it also made him wary of appearances.

Letting the memories of that lithe, pleading body run through his consciousness, he placed the hard razor edge to a new section of bone and cut deep, guiding the blood down his arm, along his palm, then going in slow drips off his fingertips and into the bowl. Each drop spread in an imperfect circle, mixing into the water that had been sparkling clear before he'd washed it over his features. Now it was thick with impurity, and he kept offering more of his blood, sweating more magic in the heat of the room.

Taking a deep breath, he held it, even though he didn't need to breathe, it was the fact that he offered to suffer for his alleged wrongdoings, and repent. He repeated various slow chants, then set his knife aside. The fire was raging hot, and he began the arduous process of steaming what was left of his sins in the heat, placing the bowl in the flames to boil and steam the water and blood away. A small bead of magic at the bottom would collect what remained, and that he would keep with him for three days before breaking it.

He sometimes found such rites to be tiresome, but he knew he had far more complex ones that he would likely put himself through to keep up appearances. His duties were not to be allowed to lapse, no matter how glorious it was to see his demon bending.

Hooding his sockets shut, he murmured a few more words, ending with a bow to the ground, low enough to have his brow hit the stone. Pushing up, he set to the task of preening his wings, the feathers having been neglected since he'd brought home his prize. Several were ragged along the edges, and he took his time smoothing and urging new magic into the areas, giving them a little more life and luster. He was glad to see the shafts were still a smooth tangerine color, though a few flickers of blushing red were peeking into the magic around the primaries. He'd have to keep an eye on that, Papyrus hated when he'd have to clip them. That degree of repentance had him landbound for weeks, but it had never failed to have the feathers grow in pure and full.

Still, no need for drastic measures yet.

Tucking the bead away in his robes, Papyrus checked over his work, noting if anything had been missed. Several thin branches of willow had been woven into a kind of rope, bound up with iron clasps. The two ends were hook-shaped, able to be twisted together to lock in place, and the entire thing had been blessed three times over. Looping it into a careful bundle, he set back towards where his little demon was waiting.

He didn't make a sound when the angel entered, likely had screamed himself hoarse in fury. He could still feel the way that body had responded to him, and gave the demon no attention as he uncoiled his rope about the room, ending back at the doorway and binding the ends together. After settling a thick piece of white, etched stone over the spot, he crossed the threshold and went right to his captive.

"You shouldn't be hurting yourself in anger," Papyrus said, noticing the splatters of blood along the floor. His wing-knuckles were raw and dirty, and one of the legs of the cot was strained to almost splintering. All he got was a look, mixed resentment, anguish, and desire. It made a pretty sight. His talons broke the bonds as easily as if they were thin string, letting the demon feel his limbs shift from their vulnerable pose for the first time in hours.

He could tell the demon too weary to offer even a token resistance right now, wound up tighter than a spring and unable to snap. His hands slid along the wet thighs and up that waist, the rasping little sound wanting to be a moan, but too worn to do so. Taking the demon in his arms, he lifted him from the cot, the last of the seals and wards from it falling off him to offer some relief.

"You are free to move about," he said, though he was settling the demon on another, much softer place to rest, "when I am not here."

"Why are you doing this?" the voice asked, low and pained, when Papyrus had turned to leave him alone again. His heat had re-surged once the bindings on the cot were gone, and likely he would recover from his weaker state a bit easier without full body chaining.

"I told you," he said, glancing over his shoulder, "I am going to save you."


	7. Chapter 7

Sans didn't know when the angel slept - because he could tell this room was Papyrus', and the bed he was still laying in belonged to the much larger skeleton. He'd fallen asleep, so relieved to be out from under the heavy strain of the bindings that he'd been locked in on the cot that he was actually relaxed. Though it didn't last long enough, his heat rippling through him with insistent vigor. He felt it from every bit of himself, and the single tiny relief he'd gotten only served to stoke it hotter.

His fingers slid up his thigh, shifting his leg aside enough to feel along himself. Soaked through, still plump and slick, and he bit his lower lip as he began to play with himself. It felt so good, just a small trickle of coolness in the center of a blistering desert. A slow bit of satisfaction. Not nearly enough, he mused, his fingers nowhere near as thick as the angel's... he growled to himself and set to work, building what little strength he had at his disposal into a warm, heady pleasantness, rather than the searing pain of need.

His hips twitched, hooding his sockets shut as he slid his hand down harder, grimacing into the empty room. Not hard enough. He tried, but his sapped reserves weren't giving him much to work with, and it seemed all he was going to do would be to frustrate himself further. It did serve to let him catch a little more sleep, though, and when he woke...

"Good morning," Papyrus said, gaze hovering over him with a pleased sort of look to his eyelights. Sans realized he'd curled to one side, stuffing all of the bedding that he could between his legs, and it was stained in pale streaks of blue. He felt his face flush, almost too embarrassed to look at the angel, but when he did, his sockets narrowed. He was dressed, and there was some kind of chain draped over his shoulders and front.

"What is _that_ ," he demanded, rather than asked. It seemed to amuse the angel, and he gave the other a pinched look, very upset, but oh stars he could smell something musky and aromatic now, and he realized it was coming from the angel. He wrinkled his nosebone. "You stink."

"Ha!" Papyrus laughed, the sound echoing a bit in the room, and Sans could tell it was from real amusement. He curled his lip, showing more fang.

"I'm glad you're amused. Perhaps you could amuse me now." His heat was already pulsing in hot and heavy, and from the way he'd started grinding on the bedding again, he was getting desperate. It seemed the angel liked him that way, at least.

He didn't expect to have that large body pinning him down, but he moaned as he felt the larger pelvis rocking up against his bare one, tail shifting aside as he did his best to adjust, lifting his hips invitingly. But the invitation seemed to be ignored, rather the angel busied himself with running soft nibbles against his horns, as if testing how hard he could bite at them. Where the chains pressed between them, it singed and hurt, but he was far too busy enjoying the pressure of the larger male atop him. He even gave little noises that could be considered pleading, arching up to rub harder against his front.

"Apologize," he heard the rough voice whisper near the base of his horn, and he was busy grinding up against that hard body, too busy letting his tongue loll out and panting with unabashed desire. He was getting worse, and it had been bad enough before. Sans managed to stop himself before he said anything, instead answering with a seductive mewl, thrusting himself back hard. He was rewarded with a pair of fingers pressing into his mouth, holding it open and making him start to drool. "Ask forgiveness."

He choked a short laugh, since he couldn't be expected to say a damn thing with those thick bone digits halfway down his throat, but he curled his tongue, lapping at the fingers, and continued his writhing grinding dance under the angel. He felt the way it warmed them, made him so very satisfied with himself, even if he wasn't getting much of what he really wanted...

Sans moaned harder as the other hand made itself known against his groin, rubbing hard and fast at his folds and clit until he was bucking into another orgasm, mouth wide enough that he wasn't biting the fingers anymore. As his high trickled down, he tried to slump down into the comfortable, dirty bedding, only to feel both hands down at his hips. He struggled, mouth free to voice his complaints.

"Not again, you bastard," he hissed, trying to pry the hands away, but oh stars they were rubbing, and one finger was inside him already, and he ground down at it, feeling another already shifting into place inside his tender pussy. The attention to his pearl had him gasping in short breaths, feeling the overstimulated shocks making the pain of the untended heat dull in comparison. His voice was thin and reedy, almost quailing. "Stop."

"Don't you want saved, little demon?"

"You're hurting me," he snapped, though it sounded far more plaintive than he had meant it to. Far more pleading for the angel to give him a breather, to not touch so rough right this moment... to be gentle. Papyrus seemed to hear him, his fingers going on slower, lighter strokes... much easier to deal with, and the relieved breath that the demon loosed had him smile.

"Now ask forgiveness," Papyrus murmured, soft and luring. Sans whined, and the longer he took, the harder those hands were being again. He fought it, squeezing his sockets shut against the pain, feeling it start to pulse in the runes etched into him, and he cried out as he was practically shoved into another orgasm. He tried to complain, but then the grip went soft again, and he heard the words uttered, the command to offer his apologies, and he shivered. He waited, trying to hope that perhaps he would bore the angel into leaving him be... but those hands were going rough again, touching in deeper and harder, and he couldn't stand it this time.

"PAPYRUS!" he shrieked, trying to get away, but he was held fast by those arms as he came a third time.

They weren't tight, or crushing, he could get away... but he heard a soft whisper behind his horns, little nonsense words of praise, and a gentle kiss right after. He hadn't understood what he'd said, though he could feel the strokes go feather-light, and he shivered, starting to move into the touches after awhile.

"Good," he said, pressing his mouth against the bone where horn met skull, letting his fangs scrape ever so slightly, "do you want to be forgiven?" The little nods were accompanied by slight whimpers, shivering, then a sharp gasp, turning to a breathy little moan. The fingers had gone to the right points, and he was rubbing so gentle, working with the way his body arched. Luring him in further, and he chanced a look up at Papyrus. The way he was being watched had another moan escape him, and Sans didn't want him to stop.

"Why are you-"

"Hush," he said, firm, but not angry. He shifted his weight, hovering over the demon, placing his hands on the bedding and pushing up off the other, just a bit, "and roll over."


	8. Chapter 8

He shivered, looking over his shoulder at the request... it hadn't been a demand, the tone was too kind. Too leading. Sans squeezed his thighs closer together, grimacing as he wanted the big hands moving along him again, pressing in deep and accurate. Pushing all the right buttons.

He took too long, the look in those orange eyelights going harder before he felt the burning sting of the chain falling from those broad shoulders. He cried out, wings flailing as the heavy links pushed him down hard to the bed, the sounds they made deafening to him as the angel moved away, leaving him there, soaked and filthy under the thick iron loops.

"I suppose you need more time to reflect," Papyrus said, his tone hollow, almost disappointed. Sans could feel the way those chains seemed to grow heavier as the angel adjusted them, shackling at his wrists and ankles, around his neck and tail. "You can rest more."

"Wait," Sans gasped after those hands had moved away, after he'd heard him take a step closer to the circle of hallowed vines, "... don't leave."

"Why?" he asked, not particularly impressed. But he'd stopped, standing between the bed and the barrier. "Do you want to talk?"

"Sure," Sans replied, turning to his side more, trying to get a better look at his captor. He'd been curious, but now he was certain. Papyrus had a cracked halo. The angel could tell where his blue eyelights had gone, and he gave a sly smirk.

"You think there's nothing beyond my reach, little demon?"

"Sans."

That took him a moment, even if only a sparse flicker of one.

"Sans," Papyrus said, and it almost made him feel as if he'd been stroked along his spine, from the back of his skull all the way down to fondling his coccyx, before his thicker tail vertebrae arched up. The way he'd breathed the word, almost reverent, and dear stars, he had a lovely grin across his features at that.

"Papyrus. I'd daresay you like the way my name tastes in your mouth," he said. He felt something more than the weight of the chains. Papyrus needed him weaker, because he was already weak for the demon. "That you relish how my voice sounds when it says yours."

No reply, but he could see it now. He could see the edges of staining that had been growing in his wings, the tinge of blood-orange on the primaries. The blot of barred peach along the upper wing, where he would need to twist and stretch to see it without a mirror. The fresh crack along his halo, where it hadn't healed over yet. The blood staining his robes that hadn't been burned yet.

"You like the way your hands feel against me."

Papyrus had nothing to say, and Sans could feel where he was wearing at the scars of his deeper sins. Where Papyrus was weak, and where he could work his way in.

"You like the way I look on your bed," he said, shifting, even though the chains made it painful and difficult, even though the weight of them was cumbersome, draining... he had a chance, right now, and he was not letting his claws slip out of those wounds. "You want to know how more of you... feels against me. How much of you I can take." He shifted his hips, not letting the clinking chain hinder him, even though it took so much energy.

"You're a tease," Papyrus said, his tone more dark and feral than it had been, and Sans let his grin glimmer bright, "you cannot handle me."

"Because you're not doing it right, angel," Sans said, "you're all rough and tactless, like a beast. You just think grope and shove, you'll do just fine..." Sans lifted a hand, even though he wanted nothing more than to stay still, under the thick demand of the bindings, "but I can show you... better."

Papyrus was stuck in that moment, looking down at the temptation of his captive, splayed and chained before him, soaked in glistening heat and lovely beyond compare. As he moved closer, he saw the tinge of red in his wing, and knew that he was stepping over the edge. He pressed in closer, arms braced on the bed as his spread wings seemed to block out everything else, gazing down at his demon.

"Perhaps you are right, Sans," he said, his voice rolling a little, almost a purr, "but you need to prove to me, that you want saved. That you will have me save you."

"Only if it's you saving me," Sans said, fingertips brushing his face. He could feel the way those eyes traced over his rune-marked bones, down to where his ectoform was waiting for his touch. Sans slid his palms up to cup those hollowed cheekbones. "Save me, Papyrus."


	9. Chapter 9

His reply was a fierce, almost brutal kiss, fangs locking against the other's sharp teeth as tongue twined almost desperate. Golden drool was left behind on that flushed face, electric blue eyelights dilated to almost fill the sockets.

"Save me, Papyrus," the voice repeated, smoldering, tantalizing, and thick with desire. The angel shifted, pulling the demon up into his lap as he took a seat on the bed, and those dangerous hooked-talon wings spread up high. Even with the chains hindering him, he moved with proud grace, pressing soft, scraping kisses against the angel's cervical vertebrae. The chain rattled in soft sways, following the motion of his arms and that slowly shifting tail. His aura seemed to thicken, the scent of sex and hunger making Papyrus a touch dizzy, but he chuckled as he felt those smaller hips grinding down against his pelvis. He wasn't so out of it that a little humping would get him hard.

"You're awfully eager, Sansy," he murmured against the side of his head, a large hand spread to cover most of his side, the sharp tips driving into the ectoform, "one might think... you're just saying what I want to hear."

"No," he breathed, making himself sit still, making his heat-wrecked body listen and not make a whore of himself on the larger skeleton. Made everything keep shiveringly quiet. "No, Papyrus, I'm not."

"So you say," the angel said, his tone almost dismissive, "but you are a demon. How do I know you're not lying?"

" _I don't **lie**!_ " he hissed, pushing up and away, glaring hatefully down at this angel that tempted and rebuked him all in the same span of time. He wanted to strike him for how he was being treated, to push him down and take whatever he could get from him now... but the patient, almost indulgent look in those amber eyelights... he shivered, looking away. "How can I have you believe me?"

His voice was small, almost childish in the way it asked, refusing to think of it as pleading.

Papyrus made a slight noise in his throat, almost indulgent, bringing a hand up to tip the demon's chin a little higher. He breathed against the smaller mouth, feeling the warmth of his restrained panting, the tongue that couldn't help but peek out past the bright fangs. Just close enough to touch, almost a kiss, but held back enough to tell him not to give in. To not press forward, only accept what was allowed. When he took his fingers from that finely-angled jawline, he almost could hear the whine of need, buried deep in that throat, strangled out of existence as soon as it began.

Such restraint.

"Confess."

The word had him go somehow more silent, looking away as he tried to imagine what went through the demon's mind. If perhaps he was trying to find a place to begin. It was several agonizing minutes before he moved, almost a beautiful statue that held him enthralled.

"Forgive me, for I have sinned," he began, and Papyrus rewarded it with the barest hint of a kiss to his cheek. He felt the way that little body locked up, shivering and fighting the desire to lunge into the angel's embrace. He didn't move further, prompting the demon to continue.

"I have taken lives," Sans murmured, "...I have destroyed and defiled."

Papyrus continued to kiss along his vertebrae, down one more with each confession, the way his voice grew desperate making him pause, pull back a little. Give him a breather, to let him continue. It was another handful of time before he could speak clearly.

"I have... turned others away, I have stolen and hated," Sans said, his voice between pained and pleading. The confessions themselves were vague, encompassing, but he could hear the ring of truths to them. Could hear how it seemed even the demon may have lost count over the decades, perhaps centuries as well. "I have envied, and lusted. Forgive me, for I have sinned."

"You are not yet forgiven," Papyrus said, a gentle, almost apologetic tone, "but you can yet repent, little demon."

"I am the cause of pain, and anguish. I have been blind to anyone but myself in my pride, and have starved others in my gluttony."

"There is so much you have done, but you can be forgiven," Papyrus said, in between the soft kisses to his vertebrae and clavicle, feeling where the extra joints that supported his wings branched off the slender slip of bone. "Do you wish to be forgiven?"

"Forgive me, for I have sinned," Sans whispered, his voice shivering in pain. It reminded Papyrus of when he had been stripping himself bare of all his sins, so long ago. "Forgive me, for I wish to make amends."

Papyrus shifted, his body leaning back enough to have Sans look down, and the demon's eyelights seemed to grow brighter. The angel's robes were very obscenely displaced, and tinted pale orange underneath the flowing fabrics. He could almost see Sans salivate for that cock, and he licked his own mouth to keep his own drool from showing at the way that pretty face seemed excited at just a glimpse of him.

"You will be anointed," Papyrus said, feeling a smile curling his features, the gold fang glinting, "touched and cleansed. I will save you, Sans."


	10. Chapter 10

To his credit, the heat-wracked demon paused, forcing his gaze away from the length he desperately craved, and to those smoking orange eyelights that watched his every move. His wings were still held up in a proud, if stiff, arching, as if ready to attempt to take flight, but they both knew the chains were too heavy. He felt each link and cuff as if they were the embodiment of all his sins, holding him down and keeping him shackled.

"I have done nothing to deserve forgiveness," he said after a long time, even though the hazed blue lights had refocused on his cock. Papyrus chuckled.

"This is not forgiveness, my little demon. This is a gift. I will allow you to sate your heat," he shifted his robes aside, letting the thick cock show more clearly to his lust-filled eyes, "to let you clear your mind. To begin to strip away the burdens that keep you from being risen."

Sans would have offered a snide remark, but he was too ready to cover that delicious rod with all he could of himself, shifting forward to feel it press against himself, touching the curve of his ribs and leaving behind a dollop of pale honey-hued pre on his bones. Fingers drawing up along the side of him, Sans seemed to worship his cock in his eyes and his breath, with his gentle strokes. To make it the embodiment of everything he needed.

The noises his little demon made had him throb, fingers clenching in the bedding as he bit back a sound of his own. His wings, however, were not so easily controlled, the feathers fluffing up with an almost audible _fwoof_ that made him want to groan. The damn things.

If Sans heard it, he was too busy lapping at the head of his cock to notice, sockets hooded as he seemed to take delicate measures to coat him in a glistening layer of saliva, a hand pumping at his base in slow strokes, too slow. Too gentle. Papyrus growled as he shifted, taking his hands and pressing them tight against the one at his shaft.

"You're awfully considerate for a demon," he said in a terse tone. Sans' eyelights flickered, tipping his head just the right bit as he gave him a pleased smirk. Regal.

"Bothered, Papyrus?" he asked, his tone showing just how much he was holding back. The way his heat was screaming to have him ravage the angel, but he was trying to control the situation. That would not do.

His fingers slid to find the base of a wing, lifting him just a touch and dragging him closer until the lips of his pussy were rubbing hard at the underside of his shaft, and his fingers searched for the spots that would have him playing the demon like a fiddle. He found one, and the lusty moan that Sans made had him curl his mouth in a pleased grin, fang glinting.

"I can just leave."

The way he said it had Sans believing he would, and the demon wasn't wanting to let the chance to finally sate some of his teased, strung-out heat. To lose some tenseness in his bones and finally feel the warm rush that came with coming. He seemed all in a hurry then, lifting up on his knees and pressing forward until their chests were even, lifting his tail even as the chains wanted to pull him down. Rubbing back against that girthy cock, Sans' breathy little moans from just rubbing against it were almost too much for Papyrus. Stars, how this demon could work its way into him and make him want.

He had to have him. He had to save him so that he could keep him.

Sans' lips spread, teal eyelights rolled up as he began to take the oversized angel. It was more than he'd ever had, but he was determined to have it. Stretching him further than he thought he could, it had the sting of pain, but that was nothing compared to the almost heavenly bliss that was the pleasure he was gaining. His hips rolled, gasping as it was hardly halfway in and already he was so close. Damnable heat. His stamina was much better than this otherwise.

Stamina be damned, though, he arched as he cried out a sharp moan, glass falling to a marble floor. He clamped tight, too tight around that monstrous cock, feeling it sting even as it had him crave more.

Papyrus slid the hand from his leathery wing down to one of those hips, pushing deeper, but Sans cried out in pain, his voice cracking as he struggled to keep still a moment. To come down off the high enough that his sensitivity wasn't through the roof. He panted, shivering in place as he tipped his foggy gaze up to his lover.

"A moment," he said, breath short as he fought to not impale himself further on that too-glorious cock. It hurt, stars damn it, even when he wanted all of it inside him. He would, no matter how long it took on the angel's lap to be blessed with fullness. He drew in a deep breath, looking Papyrus in the eye as he slid himself further, his voice a lusty, shivering thing. "Forgive me, for I have sinned..." he whispered, feeling the tears trickle down his face unbidden. Try as he might, holding them back was impossible, not with all the concentration it took to not force himself faster on the angel.

"I would hear your sins," Papyrus answered, his voice steady, despite how much he wanted to cum inside the demon. But not yet, he was going to have him captivated and overstimulated to the point of exhaustion before that happened. Sans' eyelights flicked down, concentrating, and Papyrus gave a slight buck, making him wince under the squeal of a moan.

"I-I have..." he began, hating the stammer, "taken hope, and made it less."

"Have you never been guilty of sloth?" he asked, knowing it to be one of his own more difficult vices. Sans scoffed, though it was cut short by a full-body shiver, clenching around that invading length. "Never?" he repeated, more incredulous. Sans again made a frustrated face, though at this point, the angel could attribute that to anything else in the situation.

"Sloth is for the uninspired," he replied, tone short and snippy. Oh, that wouldn't do at all. Papyrus pushed down with a hand and forced himself in deeper, almost to the hilt, hearing the choked cry it caused in his demon. It took him several breaths before he could even make sounds similar to words, and more minutes besides that. His tunnel was soaked, and even slicked to the core, he was not prepared well enough for the large angel.

"Your pride is showing."

"Well, can you blame me, angel? You seem to have some pride yourself," Sans gasped, pressing in more until he was filled with Papyrus, taking all of him with a pleased, self-satisfied sigh. He seemed happy for the moment to just hold that spot, but Papyrus was having none of it.

Sans yelped in a very undignified manner as Papyrus rolled him to his back, pressing in even with already being hilted. The pressure made a bulge show in the ecotoform of Sans' belly, gritting his fangs in a pained moan. Oh hells and stars why did it feel so good? He writhed on the angel's length, feeling it buck and rub before it swelled, gasping when an almost cool spurt of the angel's seed filled him further. His claws gripped hard at Papyrus' shoulders, drawing marrow and hearing the way he hissed out a groan of satisfaction.

Then the angel was sliding back, starting to work himself up into a series of thrusts, not quite fast, but too much right now, too full and pained, but he moaned like a lust devil, his heat blinding him and making his taloned toes curl and clench in time with his grasping, strained tunnel.

"Pa... Pa-py..." he squeaked, tone ecstasy and agony, pain and pleasure. He arched as he was forced to cum again, dizzy with the high of overstimulation, filled to the brim and still being demanded more of. "Papy!" he yelped, the thumb at his clit making him blank out, falling out of consciousness as the angel came into him again.

Papyrus panted as he stopped, feathers still fluffed out as he looked down at his demon. There was the soft glow of gold leaking from his blue-black loins, dripping free once he'd withdrawn.

"There is still much more to forgive, Sans. But you are on the right path."


	11. Chapter 11

Papyrus was settled out in the other room, having adjusted the demon comfortably on the bed before coming over here to stoke the bonefire and begin another series of rituals. The robes were torn, stained, hanging in shreds in some places, and he tossed them in to feed the snapping flames. Shifting to have himself at a proper angle, he pulled his wings up to begin examining the feathers.

Eight of them were dyed a honey-gold that deepened into bloody orange at the shaft. His claws made short work of snapping them where they wouldn't be seen, leaving gaps in his lovely wingspan. Despite not being quite as vain as he'd imagine, it did look suspicious that only a quarter of his flight feathers were pared away. But if he were to make it far enough to hunt anything worth killing, he'd need them for now. Perhaps once he was closer, clipping away the rest and destroying a few strong demons would be enough.

When he returned, coated in blood and dust, and not too many other things he could rightly identify at the moment, he was panting with the exertion that forcing his wings to carry him with sheer magic ability alone. He'd trimmed the rest of his primaries and some secondaries, burning them so no one would see the bright red shafts. He almost staggered into his den, one wing sitting a bit tight against his back, trying to keep from straining it by letting the piston droop. He needs to clean himself, he needs a wash, to heal, to be sure his sacrifices of energy and extraneous duty would keep his feathers from showing anything but white or touched in a little gold. A bit of gold was alright, but not red, red turned darker, and he could ill afford that.

He'd come too far.

Papyrus stopped when he heard a small noise, a little whimper from his room, and he was drawn as a moth to the flame, ready to be burned. And so the fire flickering at him was seated there on the bed, wrapped in the dirtied sheets and looking off into the distance. He didn't even look his way when he sat down on the bed, his gaze transfixed by something far away and unseen. He slid his hands up, finding the demon's shoulder under the fabric and leaning in closer.

"What's on your mind, little one?"

Sans seemed to still be spacing out a minute, then when his gaze flickered over to the angel, he felt caught. The electric blue of his eyes was more intense, and his voice was silken chocolate when he spoke.

"Your feathers are missing, Papyrus."

The tone was questioning, almost accusatory, but he moved to stroke a hand along the nearest wing, his body making a delicate curve that was offset by the clink of the chains. His fingers brushed the dove-white feathers, the sensation akin to tickling. Sans caught him in his eyelights again, and he felt as if his voice were lost. The more Sans spoke, the more it wove around him, the hands touching him and drawing his thoughts in tighter. The scent of his heat was still there, but not as strong, not as immediate a matter.

Something was off.

"Sans."

"Yes, Papyrus?" his voice answered, and he forgot what he was going to ask, tangled in the way that little body moved astride his lap, pressing light, fluttering kisses against his mouth, those outspread wings keeping the other steady. His eyelights were always drawn back to Sans' face, the way he looked up at him and breathed. The way he slid that matching teal tongue along his bones, as if cleaning the blood and grime he'd not yet washed away. He shuddered, responding to the demon's ministrations, and he gave a heady growl as he felt him grinding down against his cock.

"Didn't you get enough when I left you unconscious?"

"No," he answered, and Papyrus felt the tug of that hazed state trying to draw him back in as the sheets hung in tantalizing drapes along that lithe body. Accenting him with a softness he didn't seem to hold on his own, despite the delicate build of his bones. Distracting from the heavy chains.

The angel felt his wings against the bed, sprawled on his back as the demon's soaked pussy rubbed in seductive kisses at his shaft, his body tinged with lust as he lifted up again.

"I still need more of you, Papyrus. Your vigor was appreciated, but you were far too inconsiderate of my heat to finish it. You left me wanting."

The word was almost hissed, as if offended that he be handled in half-measures, left with a hunger even after having been filled. Papyrus chuckled, his hands finding those hips and arching to press himself against that entrance, still showing the deeper hue of the bruising he'd left against that tender magic.

"Then I should beg your forgiveness," he started, going slow and easy, fingers caressing at the ectoform, "I thought you sated."

Sans didn't know how he ended up already filled to the brim with that cock, but his moans were forgiving enough. He rode on Papyrus, wings letting him perch up high and work his way back down that thick magic, body taking all of it and crying in pleasure. The angel let him take as he wished, being there for his relief alone, biting back his sounds as he felt himself bleeding from where the demon clawed at him in the throes of passion, until he was screaming another orgasm and falling against his chest, spent and cooled.

"Forgive me, for I have sinned," Sans murmured after awhile, still holding that massive length within himself, "forgive me, for I seek redemption."

"You will be forgiven," Papyrus answered, his sockets hooded shut, "I ask your help in a task, Sans." That had him lift his head, looking curiously at the angel. Papyrus unseated his lover so that he could sit up, pulling the rags of his robe away and lifting a wing, showing the clipped feathers, the deep crimson shafts still damning. "I need to pluck them out."

Sans held his wing steady, almost gently so, as he buried his claws in to the magic that held the feathers fast to his wings, feeling the bones underneath before ripping the shaft away. Papyrus didn't scream at the first five, but the sixth had him yelp, feeling how deep the root of the quill was placed. Several more were easy to remove, not even a flinch from the angel, but others needed to be physically cut away, leaving far bloodier wounds behind than the plucked ones.

When the demon was done, he held the tainted feathers in his hands, closing his claws around them to tighten the bundle. Papyrus was about to ask to have them, but a flicker of blue flame around them was already burning away the delicate wisps, leaving behind ash that was pale in hue, rather than black. Letting his hands fall open, he spread it across their laps, looking down at Papyrus with an intense glow in his eyelights.

"So I have been tainting you."

"It passes," Papyrus offered, feeling the words were plodding and thick. He'd lost a lot of energy pulling away the feathers, but it was to help with clearing his sins away. He'd lost more from the fights, and more from the flight, and further from tending to Sans.

"Do you always extend yourself so far for someone else? Or do you think I really am worth saving?"

"I do, Sans," he said, taking the demon in his arms and pulling him into a hug, the plucked wings curling to brush against the cupped leather of the other's wings.


	12. Chapter 12

"Papyrus."

He froze, eyelights flaring to life as his attention was taken from his little demon and to the ungodly form of the eldrich demon. Hackles raised, he cradled Sans in closer, growling low in his throat, but it seemed to only amuse him.

"Dad!"

Papyrus' eyelights shrunk to mere pinpricks, darting down to his demon... seeing the grin of familial endearment. It shook him to his core. Sans untangled himself from his embrace as easily as smoke, wisping his way over to the much larger skeleton, smiling all the while. Gaster laid a lean hand to a curved horn, giving a slight caress.

"I thought you'd of hidden away with something to sate yourself in your heat, Sans," Gaster said, then tipped his deep void-violet attention to the angel, "I did not expect this, Papyrus."

"Oh, you know him?" Sans asked, seeming to dance in place, even though the only movement was his wings and tail, his eyelights and grin. Gaster chuckled, inky death and morbid glee.

"I assumed he'd died," he said, nonchalant, then held his hand out towards the angel in introduction, his tone mocking, "but I guess he decided to do worse. Sans, meet your older _brother_."

The angel's feathers wanted to curl at the way he said it, and Papyrus would have risen, but he felt all too well that several tendrils of void had lashed at his ankles and a wrist. He hated that he'd hobbled himself, his wings no more use than those of a downy hatchling. Sans tipped his head, curious, then he seemed ecstatic.

"Ah, if he's not dead, then we should take him home."

" **N o** ," Gaster said, his voice final, but in no way scolding his favored child, "he turned away from us a long time ago. Though if I'm not missing my guess... he'd make a decent lust devil." Papyrus felt himself reviled, shivering from the marrow out. He'd never escape the pit a second time, especially with their father there to hold him firmly in the dark. His saving grace was Sans, making a wet, noisy raspberry with his tongue.

"Pfff, he's too smart for that," he said, and Papyrus would have kissed him were he close. Then he felt the tendrils tighten, intent on leeching into his bones and drawing his soul out for punishment.

"We'll take our leave," Gaster said, and he was confused as to why the hold retreated. Then he remembered - he'd given penance. They had just pulled his feathers out by the quill, the holes where they had sat still sticky with his blood. Still healing, still giving him a touch of light. He couldn't hurt him beyond the physical, and even that had proven difficult.

"Aw, but Papy helped me," Sans huffed, looking all the world for a pouting child in that moment.

The laugh Gaster made was one that would haunt him for decades. Amused, dark, hungry, and knowing. Knowing just what he'd done with his baby brother, things demons didn't give one wit about... but an angel would.

"You were born a disappointment, Papyrus," his father said, turning,  "you're safe for now, poor angel. Sans, give your _brother_ a kiss goodbye. The queen has been asking about you."

Toriel. If she knew of Sans, was asking about him... Papyrus held the small demon tight as he could, unable to think of what to say. To be able to tell him he was being taken as a tool, to be used and shaped, and discarded if broken. To be pruned and pared of anything but what he was required by the elder demon.

"You swore you would save me."

His soul sang at those words whispered to him by that fanged mouth, the little kiss against his scarred jawline making him want to cry. He didn't want to let him go, but with Gaster there, he didn't have a choice if he wanted to fulfill that promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for this story! ... but I have plans for a sequel =w=


End file.
